Build Me Up (NaNoWriMo)

Day 4 (1,082 words)

”Ford Hamm, as in contractor Ford Hamm?” Kristen asked aloud. Better to find out now than when she had to face the mysterious contractor.

“The one and only,” he confirmed. Great. Just perfect.

“Do contractors always carry toolboxes around?” she blurted, not knowing if she should just cut to the chase or not. Maybe best to warm him up a bit and make him forget about their previous encounters. Operation Sweet Talker underway.

“Maybe they should,” he shrugged his big shoulders. “You never know when there’s an emergency.”

“What, like a rusty nail that needs replacing – stat?”

“Exactly. One can always use a hammer.”

O….kay.

“You sure you don’t want to join me?” Kristen gestured to the empty seat opposite her. “My treat. I think I owe you for being an ungrateful bitch earlier,” she cringed.

“I hit you with a toolbox. I think we can call it a draw.”

What, like he was so seriously wounded by their conversation? She was the one with a freaking bruise! Kristen tamped down her irritation and schooled her expression. No point arguing with the only contractor in town.

“Okay, then you can pay for your own burger,” she said lightly. “In case you missed it, I’m kinda new in town. I could do with getting to know people.”

“Well, like I said, I need to get going. Hallie is a people person, though. You could ask her for recommendations.”

“Thanks,” Kristen said to his already retreating back. Well, that went well…

Ford put his toolbox in the back of his truck before heading over to the Food Shopper to pick up Annabelle. Stupid name, as the store sold a lot more than food to its customers, but old man Crenshaw had named it after his favorite magazine, which was now long gone. It was the only grocery slash convenience store in Greenport, but Crenshaw was an honest man and kept his prices fair. The souvenir shops had no qualms about pricing, though. Ford supposed they had to keep the money flowing in during tourist season if they were going to survive the rest of the year. Of course, most of them had other shops in the state, ones that stayed open all year long, and their businesses in Greenport were just a lucrative side venture.

He raised his hand in greeting as he walked in and spotted Mrs. Crenshaw – old man Crenshaw’s daughter-in-law who was the current manager of the Food Shopper – stocking the fresh baked bread section.

“Hiya, Ford,” she called back, sliding an empty tray back into her trolley. “You just missed her.”

What? Annabelle knew he was picking her up today. They were supposed to go visit his grandfather’s grave at Greenport Cemetery.

“She left already?” he asked, walking over. He could smell the sugar on the donuts she’d just piled. His mouth watered and his stomach let it be known he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Oh… you didn’t have plans, did you?” Mrs. Crenshaw gave him a look of pity. Or was it solidarity? Her own kids were a few years older than Annabelle, and he knew she’d had a handful of trouble with them over the years.

Ford sighed. “Yeah.”

“That boy was here – Donny Preston? You know, Donna Preston’s son?”

Ah, the lady with the clever name selections for her kids – Donny, Donyelle (because Danielle was just too ordinary) and Donner. Chairman of the PTA and overall busybody. Her kids were the spitting image of their mother.

“What was Annabelle doing with Donny Preston?” Ford asked even as the obvious answer was staring him right in the face. The pharmaceutical section practically jumping out at him and screaming ‘sale on prophylactics’. He cringed.

“Oh, Ford,” Mrs. Crenshaw clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You should bring Annabelle over for dinner one night. I’ll make sure to have the grandkids around.”

“As a scare tactic?”

“No, as a distraction. I could get my kids to hire Annabelle for babysitting, keep her busy until she’d heading back to her mom.”

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” Ford sighed.

“You’re human,” Mrs. Crenshaw said and patted his cheek. “Heaven knows I had my moments when I considered dumping the kids with Mom and flying out to Vegas.”

“They’ve turned out well, though.” It was true. The Crenshaw kids had wreaked havoc on the town for awhile, but now they all held steady jobs and were raising families of their own. All except the youngest, who was going to college in Boston.

“I had a good team backing me,” Mrs. Crenshaw said. “It was tough going when Bobby died, but my parents and his all pitched in to help out. “It can be done, Ford.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for us – giving Annabelle a job here and all. I know she can be-“

“She’s a teenager,” Mrs. Crenshaw cut him off. “A little rough around the edges, but a sweet kid. She’ll be all right, Ford.”

“I feel like I’m failing. She’s growing up so fast, and I’m missing out on everything in between visits.”

“Did you talk to Suzy about California?”

“I can’t afford to move out there. I’m struggling to pay the mortgage and child support every month. I have a business here. If I go to California…” he shook his head.

The money wasn’t the only issue, of course. He didn’t want to live the life Suzy wanted, or the one Annabelle was starting to crave. Then there was the custody agreement. Even if he did manage to move out to California, in some small town outside of L.A. where he could start up a contracting business, he still wasn’t allowed to see Annabelle more often than the agreed upon times. And as long as he could get her to come out here, to Greenport, he had a chance to show her there was more to life than shoes and makeup.

“You do what you need to do,” Mrs. Crenshaw said reassuringly. “I better get back to the oven – lot of freshly baked bread draws in the crowds, you know.”

“All right, I’ll get out of your hair,” Ford smiled. “Thanks for the pep talk, Mary.” He leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. “If you see Annabelle, tell her-“

“That she’s invited for dinner tomorrow night,” Mrs. Crenshaw filled in, winking. That wasn’t what he had been about to say, and she knew it. No use protesting, Ford simply shook his head and headed out.